Temporarily living in hobble land

Moseyin’ Along

March 28, 2012

Last week, I had another of those rare - thank God - meetings with one of my doctors in the local hospital's outpatient surgical center. The purpose of the get-together was to remove some painful and unnecessary bone spurs from my arthritic right foot.

The unwelcome additions to my foot anatomy had developed over years and had recently made walking a daunting task. When I consulted my favorite podiatrist, Dr. H., an exceptional foot surgeon, she assured me she could set things right with a short stint in the operating room.

For some reason, such procedures are always scheduled for the wee hours of the morning. This one was no exception. So on the designated day, I dragged myself out of bed well before the break of dawn - 3:45 a.m. - to keep my date with Dr. H.

At the hospital, I was prepped and poked and given a spiffy new outfit to wear - one of those classy backless numbers that defy modesty.

When Dr. H. and her masked crew of medical pros were in place, I was wheeled into the inner sanctum of the operating suite.

For the next hour or so, I had a welcome nap, thanks to the expertise of the anesthesiologist Dr.

D. Fortunately, I was the only one in the room who was sleeping, so the restructuring of my foot went off without a glitch.

Now, with the operation behind me, I am back home and well into what's known as the recovery phase. And I've discovered that this portion of such foot repair brings with it a number of features I hadn't expected. First among these has been my so-called "walking cast."

If there was ever a contradiction in terms, it's the words "walking cast." This bulky, unyielding, velcro-enhanced item is as compatible with actual walking as tireless car is with a leisurely drive in the country. Such terms as "straight-talking politician" and "peaceful war" fall into the same category as "walking cast."

During this period of adjusted movement, I've become decidedly jealous of friends, family members, even strangers who move effortlessly on two good feet.

Though it seems this recovery period will go on forever, I know I'll graduate from my hobbling lifestyle and be back on two feet soon. But these little detours in my road of life always remind me of how lucky I am. It's another opportunity to stop and count my blessings, one of the best exercises I know.